


The dreaded Letters

by Icelandic_Flutterby



Series: The Sack of Doriath [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Doriath, Gen, Oath of Fëanor, Second Kinslaying | Sack of Doriath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:55:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23753428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icelandic_Flutterby/pseuds/Icelandic_Flutterby
Summary: Maglor heralds the doom of Doriath. It wasn't easy.
Relationships: Maedhros | Maitimo & Maglor | Makalaurë
Series: The Sack of Doriath [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1614445
Kudos: 8





	The dreaded Letters

Maglor is a wordsmith as well as a musician. In his life, he has written as many lyrics as he has written musical scores. He has written poems, and prose, and many other beautiful things.

Why, he even proposed to his wife by way of writing. A beautiful letter to invite her to a fun outing, and a gorgeous song for them to sing together.  
He'd written something for the birth of all his younger siblings and cousins, and their weddings, and their funerals. 

He had written speeches for many kings, Grandfather, Father, Uncle and Fingon. He had written many speeches for princes and princesses, both in times of war and peace. 

He is well versed in all sorts of writing, has had much practice, has never once been out of practice, and so these letters should be easy.

Should be. They weren' t. He'd sat there now, for well over two hours. These letters to his younger siblings had to be written, it was necessary, it was time. They'd dallied too long, ignored it too long, and now they had to act, willing or no.

But still he couldn't write, yet. He stared at his hand. In it he held a pen, posed over paper, seemingly fully prepared to start writing. And yet no ink had found paper. 

Maglor knew, in a detached sort of way, that Maedhros was gazing at him. Indeed, Maedhros might have addressed him, but nothing had managed to pierce through the thick fog clouding Maglor's thoughts. Until he felt a hand on his shoulder. 

His ear twitched, and Maglor looked up at his elder sibling. "I can write it, if you prefer." Maedhros offered, and Maglor shook his head. No no, that wouldn't do, not at all. Maglor wouldn't shrick his duty. "Are you sure?" Asked Maedhros, and Maglor made a face at him, and put the pen down on the paper, just to prove a point.

And then paused for a moment - for he still didn't know what to write, but ah, well. Sometimes one just had to start, and in this case a first draft would have to do.

"Dear Telufinwë,  
It is time for us all to gather. A silmaril resides just in reach, and the Sindar refuse to give it up. Mass your forces, it is time to march.  
Kanafinwë"

One down, 4 others to go.


End file.
